


Surrender

by nam_seonji



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Please be nice, this is my first crack at this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-08
Updated: 2018-07-08
Packaged: 2019-06-07 09:42:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15216413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nam_seonji/pseuds/nam_seonji
Summary: As a rule, he will not sacrifice his brothers to save himself. He will hold out. Even if it kills him.





	Surrender

**Author's Note:**

> This is my very first time doing this, I don't even know if this is going to post right, I hope so. This was my entry for December 2016's Fete de Mousquetaires competition, it is crossposted from ff.net. Anyway, if this does post and I end up looking like a complete moron, I hope you enjoy it, there is a little violence in this, I apologise in advance. No, this is not the kind of thing I write atm, but I needed a guinea pig fic so that I could work out how to AO3. Yes, I know I've had an account since 2015, I'm just a moron, doing his A Levels. Anyway, enjoy!

As a rule, he will not sacrifice his brothers to save himself. He will hold out.

Even if it kills him.

He draws in air, trying hard to breathe around the broken ribs he knows he must have.

The Inseparables had been sent to deliver a promissory note to the Duke of Angoulême, which would be paid on the arrival of his forces in La Rochelle. The journey was going well, and they were making good time, having shaved an hour off the journey already, when they were ambushed. They had agreed to meet at the Duke’s estate before riding in separate directions to confuse and separate the attackers, but they had managed to corner him and Athos. 

_“You should go.”_

_“No.” Athos griped his blade tighter._

_“Athos,” Aramis placed his hand on Athos’, “There’s no point in us both staying. You have the letter, you should go.”_

_“Aramis-”_

_“Go. I’ll meet you there.”_

He can still feel the pull of the musket wound in his left shoulder, the slow trickle of blood from the various cuts that still smart on his chest and arms. He can feel the knife that is still tucked inside his boot, but he has no way of getting to it, not with the rope tied around his wrists. The chair they tied him to is rough and he can feel it digging into his back. 

He doesn’t know how long he’s been here. It might have been days, or weeks, the days seem to blend together because all he can feel is the pain. There are no windows down here either. He knows it’s a Sunday, but he doesn’t know which one, because he heard one of the men talking about going to mass. He doesn’t know how long it’s been since they gave him food or water, but the ache in his throat and the gnawing pain in his stomach mean it’s been a while. 

He tries to focus once again on the scarred face of his captor above him.

“I won’t ask again.”

“Ask all you like.”

His captor’s fist connects with his face again, over and over, until he can no longer feel it. He is so numb that he can’t even feel the kicks to his stomach when the chair finally topples over, can’t feel his shoulder hit the floor, or the slashes the knife makes on his arms and across his chest. 

He stays silent.

His silence must frustrate his captor, because he finally hears the click of the gate as he slams it on the way out. He lifts his head.

Athos is stood in the corner. He sighs, and lowers his head again. Rationally, he knows that the blood loss, the dehydration and lack of food are getting to him, but he can’t quite bring himself to care. 

Athos mutters, _“You should just tell him where it is.”_

His gaze is still on the floor. “I can’t.”

_“Why not?”_

“He doesn’t want the note.”

_“What?”_

“I said, he doesn’t want the note.”

_“What does he want?”_

“You.” Aramis’ voice is no more than a whisper. His head is down, but Athos can still see the silent tears that are tracking down his face. He reaches out to wipe away a tear and his heart sinks when Aramis startles under the soft touch. Teary brown eyes look into sad blue ones. 

“I can’t ‘Thos. I can’t tell him.”

_“Why not?”_

“Because I can’t….” He shudders, “He said you…”

Understanding creeps into Athos’ eyes. Aramis’ gaze is locked on the floor again.

He whispers, “I don’t want it to be real.”

_“‘Mis.”_

“I can’t. You’re not dying so I can live.”

His tears flow faster and faster.

_“Aramis?”_

“Aramis.”

He finally looks up, but Athos isn’t there.

“‘Thos?” His voice is hoarse.

He sees Athos’ face swim into view from behind him, just as the rope around his wrists is released. He can feel Athos’ hand around his wrist, he can feel it, and it feels like friendship and comfort and home and it feels real.

_It feels real._

“Athos.”

He almost collapses out of the chair, but Athos is there to hold him up. Tears begin to drip down Athos’ doublet and arms tighten around him but Athos can hardly bring himself to care. Aramis pulls his arms away, but Athos puts one of his arms around his shoulders. 

“How long-”

“Ten days” Athos’ reply is strained, but Aramis can hear the worry. 

“Porthos-” 

Athos almost growls, “Outside. Dealing with them.”

Aramis can hear the undercurrent of fury in his voice and almost blanches at it, but he knows that it’s not directed at him. 

“Aramis.”

“Mhmm.”

“Don’t ever sacrifice yourself for me again.”

Or maybe it is.

**Author's Note:**

> (P.S. sorry for the rant at the top)


End file.
